Something good, something old, something loved

Everyone should own something good—something that has lasted and will last. I’m talking about an item well-made … the kind of thing that’s put together by a craftsman … with care and pride. When you own something like that you know everything about it. You know where it comes from and it’s history. More importantly you know every scratch and dent, every stain and scuff. You know how to take care of it. You know how to repair it and when it doesn’t need to be fixed because that’s not damage, it’s character. Over all other considerations you are proud that you own it. Each new day, when you see it waiting for you, there is that little spark of feeling, reminding you of the first time you saw it. It might be a pair of shoes, an antique chair, a classic car, a great pair of jeans, or anything else at all. For me it’s a hat I’ve owned for twelve years.

My hat is called the Snowy River, and was made in Australia by a company named Akubra. It’s a broad brimmed, blocked, cattlemans hat, made from rabbit fur felt, with a pinched telescope bash. It started out black, but age and wear have made it more brown in places. A few years ago I added a band made of crocodile hide and teeth. Not only is the hat itself an Australian classic, it’s named for another, a poem called ‘The Man From Snowy River’ by Banjo Patterson.

My hat has seen a lot of wear over the years. Rain has soaked it, utterly undoing the blocking of the brim. Wind has sent it skittering through the dirt. Snow has weighed it down. It bears scratches from the claws of a cat. The lining is stained and discolored. It’s gotten dirty and dusty and is never entirely free of foreign hairs and fibers. Through all of that I’ve cleaned it and cared for it in-between bouts of using and abusing it. I learned, years ago, how to use water and steam to re-block it, in the process creating a shape to my hat that is unique in all the world. My DNA is literally worked into the body of my hat from years of sweating into it, and the internal shape of it is exactly that of my skull.

My Akubra hat has been one of my treasured possessions for twelve years now, and with the care I know how to give it there is no reason it won’t still be with me many years from now. So take my advice and find something like it in your life. This is not an advocacy statement on consumerism. If it were I’d be telling you to go out and buy ten hats for what I spent on my one. I’d sing the praises of having a whole closet full of hats, with options to suit every mood or fashion choice. If anything I’m telling you to resist consumerism by choosing where your money goes with care and with an eye toward the longevity of your investment. Or maybe that’s just a logical veneer I’ve applied, like an epilogue, to what is truly an emotional appeal. Take it how you will, I’ll be wearing my hat.

Battered and bent,
never broken,
dusty scratched and stained,
misshaped by rain,
reshaped by steam,
more brown than black from handling and wear,
far travelled,
well loved,
this old hat.